


Work to do

by old_starlit



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sorry Not Sorry, this is nothing but sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7332184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_starlit/pseuds/old_starlit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I have so much work to do.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Those words were a common excuse for him. A way to avoid conversations and unwanted distractions, a way to close off feelings.</p><p>He never used these words on John Laurens, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work to do

_“I have so much work to do.”_

Those words were a common excuse for him. A way to avoid conversations and unwanted distractions, a way to close off feelings. He used it when he was seventeen, in the aftermath of the hurricane. He ignored the thoughts of his entire home wrecked, the creeping guilt of being the sole survivor, or the fact that his future was wiped from him, only telling himself: _Write. Write. Write._

It worked after all, gaining him a passage to an unknown land, one where he was told opportunity lies. He pushed back his past, only looking towards the future. 

He used it at King’s College, brushing off concerns of professors and students when they realized he hadn’t slept all night. _I am fine,_ he would say. _I don’t need help._ And he didn’t. He had his work and that was enough.

He used it towards Washington, during one of their arguments of whether he should fight or write. He spat out the line as he walked out of the tent, a way of throwing Washington’s win back at him. _I have work to do_ , he said, turning away from Washington. _The work_ you _gave me_. And he worked, and didn’t stop even when he almost passed out from exhaustion until Washington finally gave him the command he desired.

He even used it during a conversation with Eliza, the one woman, out of all those he had charmed, whom he had sold his heart to. She had asked him about his childhood in the Caribbean, not even knowing the memories the question had brought, and he had frozen and closed up. Eliza, ever caring, did not ask questions or bring up the topic again, allowing him to shakily leave to write mindlessly.

Alexander _did_ promise himself to never use those words on one person: South Carolinian John Laurens, a fellow soldier and someone who was like no one Alexander had ever met.

He was smart and passionate and everything Alexander was and more. Their conversations were quick-paced and they bounced ideas off each other, anything from abolishing slavery to war plans. After staring at John’s shining eyes and bouncing curls and freckles, it was evident to Alexander that he was falling fast.

Alexander was never one to deny John’s time and didn’t even try to resist when John persuaded him to drop his quill and kissed him for the first time. It was a sin, what they were doing, and they could be hanged, but Alexander couldn’t bring himself to care, because of _John_.

John was the one who could walk into their cabin at Valley Forge and Alexander would pause his work for the first time in hours (occasionally days) and allow himself to be pulled into kisses. His always-talking mouth would be silenced at John’s touch, the only one who could ever get him to shut up. 

John was the one who could steal Alexander away on summer nights, leading him away from camp to a secluded place where they would lie in silence, watching the stars.

John was the one whom Alexander stayed up all night with after John had suffered from a bullet injury, running recklessly through the battlefield _again_. His work lay forgotten as he held John’s hand until dawn, vowing to never leave his side.

The attraction was never one sided either.

John would ensure that Alexander would eat and sleep, sometimes even sneaking parts of his rations to Alexander without his noticing in an effort for him to eat more. He’d stay up until Alexander finished writing where he’d massage his cramped hand until the tension gradually faded and he’d lead Alexander to bed.

John could tease out a genuine smile from Alexander and get him to laugh for the first time in ages. He’d be the only one to listen to Alexander, actually _listen_ , with equal enthusiasm. 

Once, John had to reassure Alexander of his love, when Alexander had found a letter to John from his wife, Martha.

 _I don’t love her,_ John had said. _I’ve never loved her. You’re the only one for me._

Alexander only nodded. _And you me,_ he replied. Their relationship grew more intimate than before, sending love letters every time they were separated.

Their relationship hit a bump after one winter’s ball, when Alexander had caught the attention of two Schuyler sisters. He began to write more letters to Eliza than John, and when confronted, he would simply shake his head and kissed John hard before he could ask anymore questions.

When Alexander and Eliza’s engagement was announced, John’s world was crushed.

On the night before his wedding, John had asked if things between them would change. His eyes were askance, and both he and Alexander knew what the proper, right answer was, and Alexander couldn’t bear to give it.

 _Part of my heart still belongs to you,_ Alexander had promised. _Nothing has changed._

John had believed him and their secret relationship continued.

After that, Alexander had taken more care into showing that he loved John in all these little ways, because there was no one else like him, and Alexander wanted him to know that.

No, he’d never use that excuse on John Laurens, never would brush him off, never would close him off. 

And then one letter threw everything off. 

 

It was a quiet day. Alexander was writing a letter to Washington after playing with Philip when Eliza approached him (somewhat warily) with a letter. She walked up to him hesitantly and he turned around, surprised to see the sadness clouding her features. 

“Alexander?” she called, clear voice cutting through the silence. “There’s a letter for you.”

Alexander couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “It’s from John Laurens. I’ll read it later.” It was best his wife not read the words he and John wrote to each other.

Eliza stepped closer and said, somewhat hesitantly, “No it’s not. It’s from his father.”

Alexander’s smile fell at that. “His father?” he repeated, taking the letter as she handed it to him.

Alexander read the unfamiliar handwriting, hands shaking more and more after each word until he dropped the paper. He felt hollowed out at the sudden news, at the two words that didn’t go together.

_John Laurens. Dead._

A wide range of overwhelming emotions bubbled up in him. He wanted to scream or cry, or possibly both at the same time, but instead closed his eyes and ignored the feelings. _Don’t feel. Don’t think. Just write._

Eliza looked at him concernedly and Alexander turned away from her, forcing out the words he had promised to never say about the one soldier with freckles like constellations who had captured his heart.

“I have so much work to do.”


End file.
